


Anointed

by typhe



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Ceremonies, LHM, M/M, Obedience, Service Kink, imposter syndrome, kinking to the divine right of kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 03:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16318274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typhe/pseuds/typhe
Summary: After his coronation, Randale turns to Vanyel for support.





	Anointed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gildaurel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildaurel/gifts).



> This follows on from my Van/Shavri/Randi pwp, [Favours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/888555).

The last revellers were stumbling past Vanyel in the hallways; the Palace felt like a worn out drunk with her arms around the city. All day there had been people everywhere; lords and ladies rarely seen since Elspeth's coronation, and a Bard under every teacup. Hours ago, Randale had ridden through Haven's spiral streets, and perhaps half the townsfolk had followed into the grounds after he returned, as was tradition, as if anyone still remembered the day Elspeth was crowned. _Not many Heralds, that's for sure. We aren't known for living long._

But tradition was tradition and something more than that. He couldn't shake the feeling that Elspeth's near-forgotten coronation must have slipped inside this summer day, a visitation from long before he'd been born, and with it every other crowning, from daughters to brothers to cousins and grandchildren and whichever meandering way the line took between those blood-linked and Chosen, all the way back to the Founding. _I know I felt...something, when Lancir lifted the crown to Randale's head._ A power that held the silence between trumpet-bursts, kept time for the soft drumbeat of feet against marble, century after century.

With the sun long set, the air just felt stuffy and Vanyel's pristine formal Whites itched at his skin. The searing power had sunk down to stone, an old name, living and unforgotten. He could hear it in a way he never quite had before. In that moment when he'd knelt before his friend and looked up to see his king, in the light of a power that dazzled him such that it was a wonder he'd seen Randale's lips move at all.

_'Find me later.'_

Van had taken that as an order. Randi hadn't been in his old room, so Vanyel had roamed on from there without thinking, obedient yet lost, til his steps eventually lead back to the audience chamber.

He slipped through the door as quietly as he could. Inside, it was not quite dark - one candle flickered in a sconce somewhere near the raised dais of the throne. In the vast dimness, his gentle step at the threshold and the quiet click of the door closing behind him echoed like cast stones. Vanyel had never been in here at night, much less after such a day. He closed his eyes, felt the press of Heralds and nobles around him, saw every banner hung high - and felt that old power that lay below daylight and trumpet song and pledges.

All gone now, but for a single candle and Randi before it in silhouette, pulling a hand through tangled hair.

Van smiled at the sight of him. He looked like _Randi_ , again - not like earlier. No crown, and no formal tunic either, just rumpled shirt and loose breeches, and a tired answer to Vanyel's grin. "You look lively," he called. "Honestly surprised you're still awake."

"Needed to clear my head," Randi shrugged, his eyes roaming the vast, vaulted ceiling above them before settling on the dark shadow of the throne. "And I wanted to thank you," he added.

"What for?" Van asked.

"For being you," he said, meeting Van's eyes with all of his diffident charm. "I realised earlier, there's not many people I can trust. Not like you. I'm going to need you." Vanyel bit back his surprised retort. _You're going to have to trust some of them._ "Ever feel like you shouldn't be here? That it wasn't meant to be you?"

Vanyel froze. _Of course I do._

Randi didn't hear him; he wasn't much for Mindspeech and if he had been, he would not have trespassed upon such a private thought as had crossed Vanyel's mind at his words. "Sorry. I keep worrying about Lancir. When he set the crown upon my head he looked at me like..." Randale climbed the lowest row of the dais and trod a circle around the throne, feet tapping slow on the curve of stone. "Like he _wasn't_ looking at _me_ , Van - I'd never felt so - I knew he wanted it to be my father -"

"He looked upon his king," Van insisted. "Did you truly not feel it?"

Randale paused, and climbed another step, looking down on him. "You did too? I wondered if I'd imagined it. It...gripped me, and it's not let me go." Candlelight flickered on his eyelashes. "I don't know if it ever will. I don't know what world I'm in, Van."

 _That was Valdemar - that was Founding magic._ Surely everyone there had known it? They who had pledged there, in the name of the land and its founder, offered to its new anointed vessel. They surely knew. "Randi, don't turn from it. This is why you were Chosen. You were Chosen to rule, just as I was Chosen to serve you."

Bewilderment creased Randale's face. "Van - the most certain I was of it was when I saw _you_ bow before me."

Vanyel felt the world slowly upend itself, his young friend, his _king_ , looking down to him for assurance. Not finding any, Randale turned away and in two more steps he was up at the circle's centre, his hand on the back of the throne, resting ungently as if he were a mage communing with a heartstone. "Never mind that," Randi murmured. "I just wish I knew what Lancir really thought of me. I always feel like he's really talking to someone else. He makes me feel like an understudy."

"I didn't pledge myself to an understudy," Van insisted.

"No," said Randi, and he glanced out into the dark. "You pledged yourself to the king. You know me," he added awkwardly.

 _In so very many ways_ , and Van tried to put the most carnal of those out of mind. They chose the most peculiar moments to haunt him. He batted aside those cobwebs of their secrets, and boldly climbed the first two steps. "So, fine. Let's do this again."

"What?" 

The way Randale eyed the throne very much reminded Vanyel of the first time he'd seen his own Whites in the mirror, ten years ago. _You're more than a man, now, you're a king anointed by the Powers - and all you want to know is that someone will stand by you as a man._ "Sit there. I mean it." _Don't, let's not either of us, make this absurd. Let's get used to this._

Randale sat slowly, his eyes not leaving Vanyel's, and in the empty dark, Van felt that heavy solemnity take him again. He rose the last few steps and dropped deep to his knees before the throne, and felt every Herald that had ever been here beside him, somehow. King and Herald, as it had ever been. _May it always be._

"Your Majesty," and that wasn't everything, but he felt the words pull the man above him into the beat of their power. "Randi," he added. "I, Van, pledge my life in your service - as your Herald, and as your friend. I'll be - your tool, for whatever you need of me. Whatever Valdemar needs of me. I will be at your disposal. Randi - you know I can't say Companions would never make mistakes, but I know this isn't one of them. You are Chosen, you're worthy, you're my king, and I trust you to command me. May I serve you with honour."

Vanyel's voice rose until it rang out into the shadows. Randale's surprise faded, and Van thought he saw a glimmer of faith light his eyes. He reached, again, for Vanyel's hand, King to Herald. No gloves, not weighed down by jeweled rings - Vanyel tightened his hand against those long, narrow fingers, feeling them shake a little against his palm. Randi to Van. Warm brown eyes, soft and brittle. Randale had taken so many hands today. Accepted hundreds of pledgers, one by one.

But here there were no others, no audience.

No reason to let go.

No reason to hold back.

Alone, in the dark, Vanyel bent low and pressed his lips against Randale's curled hand. His lips slipped over knuckles, tonguetip grazing the odd flavour of the king's skin - silver polish, perfume, salt. 

_That was a mistake_ , he realised, as Randi rose to his feet. He tried to drop his grip, but Randi wouldn't let go. He held him tighter, Van's hand dangling in his, and eyes made Van feel as if he were being scrutinised by fire.

Van stood, slow and awkward as he scraped within for an apology, and Randi threw an arm about his neck and pulled him close, kissing him with fumbling force. Searching him for - something else, something new between them that Van had dragged into the open. Randale, who had rarely commanded anyone and now asked his acquiescence. A step below, Vanyel bent his head back and let Randale pull him close.

They parted, and Randi stared at him - more than he'd been moments ago. _So that's what anointing oil tastes like_ , and Van rubbed his lips with his thumbtip. _Wine, too._ "Come back with me," the King ordered.

 

They walked in silence because the King's guardsmen had fallen into step behind them as soon as they'd turned the next corner, and Vanyel could not think of any lighthearted nothings that could cover the moment. How had Randi had shaken them off before? By asking them politely, most likely. Van walked close behind Randale, breathing him through bruised lips - that half-metallic scent, that radiance clinging to his presence, wrapping Vanyel close with his every sense even while Randale sternly avoided his eye. _He's unused to this_ , Van realised with a little swagger. Randi had never acquired that subtle habit of walking calmly beside a man and admitting nothing by word or gesture while leading him to his bedchamber.

His royal bedchamber.

Vanyel's annoited king, who he had pledged to serve, had asked him to come his royal bedchamber, and he obeyed without question. Gods, and suddenly Randi didn't seem so awkward. Van barely even knew where he was - he'd rarely had cause to visit this wing of the Palace before. Even the stones were unfamiliar, shaped centuries ago. Everything felt felt solid and incredibly old; hard for anyone to leave their mark upon, or ever be truly at home here. His every footstep felt profane.

At the doors of the monarch's suite, Randale calmly bid the guardsmen to not allow them to be disturbed. Someone had lit candles in the royal parlour beyond, but no fire. Vanyel looked into the room beyond, trying to remember what personal touches Elspeth had placed there. Hadn't there been a painting of her late husband in this room once? The one who, by all accounts, she'd been kindly with but never loved - little wonder Randale had had it taken out. Would Shavri move here soon, add her own imprints? Vanyel sealed the oak door behind them, taking some comfort in its solidness. It was so heavy that he felt sure the world beyond it couldn't reach them, couldn't hear them, might as well not exist.

Well, almost. "Where is Shavri?" he had to ask.

"She's putting Jisa to bed," and a faraway look ghosted across Randale's face. "She knows, Van. She's... She believes we owe you a boon."

"Me?" he gasped. And Randi only pressed him tight against the door, close enough to offer ample evidence that his interest went well beyond repayment of favours. Vanyel sighed, and slid down the length of Randale's body, sinking to his knees in the thick rug on the floor. 

Randi stared down at him, breathing hard. His erection flushed against his breeches, and Van raised his hand to cup it through cloth. Randi reached a shaking hand down to his face, clumsily brushing Van's hair behind his ears. Caressing him, tilting his head up with shy and curious fingertips below his chin. He seemed so fascinated, for all his unsureness. "What would you bid of me," Van breathed, "Your Majesty?"

Randi froze. _Oh, I intend that he will get used to hearing that_. He sensed Randi on the verge of incredulity, and Van looked up at him in invitation. _He can laugh if he needs to. Just so long as this time_ , and that metallic taste still seemed overwhelmingly close, _he offers me the sceptre._

"Gods," murmured Randale. Van knew very well that there were only so many places a susceptible man's mind could go when Vanyel looked up at them that way, and it was increasingly clear that Randi was indeed susceptible - _frustratingly so, but I know all too well that he won't be pried from his lifebonded for more than a night._ He fumbled with his laces, tugging them open without taking his eyes off Van. His fingers curled loose around his cock, and Van's mouth opened in a silent vow. _My liege. I would do anything for him. Anything he asked for. Anything he needed._ A thumbtip and fingertip slipped between his lips with the hot swell of the head, and he met Randi's thick, warm cock with his tongue.

He lapped at it, clumsy with hunger and its sheer size. _I've never seen nor tasted the like to him -_ and he stifled a laugh at the thought of all those courtiers who had knelt before Randale earlier - _If only they knew!_ For if the instruments of the ritual mattered little, ancient orb and sceptre, the Powers they summoned were real indeed and they had made Randale blessed, and cursed, and most stately. He felt that beautiful instrument with his cheeks drawn in, from tight lips to the back of his mouth, Randi's hands at his face, that silvery scent trailing wherever his fingers touched.

"Van," he breathed, and Vanyel redoubled his efforts, slipping the huge head rapidly over his lower lip and back again. "Van - please - I want to touch you." Randi grabbed Van by the shoulders, pulling him upright, and Van took the opportunity to press another kiss against his lips. "Gods, Van," he breathed, and stepped back toward the inner door. "Would you, uh," and he seemed so shy that Van wondered if he'd ever had to ask anyone for anything. With those sun-warm eyes, maybe he hadn't. "Come to bed with me."

"Your majesty," Van bowed gracefully. Randi's eyes narrowed in exasperation. _Get used to it_ , Van urged silently. Randi turned on his heel, swinging open the ornate inner door.

Van hung back at the door of the bedroom while Randi scanned around it as if he were a stranger - _he's never spent a night here before except in vigil for Elspeth, has he?_ Van reached a hand to his shoulder, and Randi sighed. "You're teasing me."

"No I'm not - at least, not in that way," Van assured him. "I'm your Herald, Randi."

"You're more than that," Randi seemed to look somewhere past him. "You're a friend, and," he shrugged, as if in reluctance to state the obvious.

 _And I'm the father of his child._ Van had never meant for that to change anything between them, but it had been naive of him to ever think that was avoidable. They'd been so young, and he'd been foolish enough to not realise then that he'd tied himself to Randale and Shavri for life. _I was thinking like someone who might not even live another nine months anyway. I still am._

He chased away Randale's hanging words with another kiss, and he decided he rather liked kissing Randale - he had a lot of grace and finesse. Van slipped a hand around his back, drifted it low inside his loosened breeches. "Damn," Randale muttered into his lips, and he stepped back, and tugged off his disarrayed clothes. "You, uh." Van, still in barely creased formal Whites, raised an eyebrow at him. "Hells' sake, Van, will you take all that off?"

"As you command," he replied, and he undressed slowly, dropping another bow once he was naked. 

Randale seized his hands, pulling him into the bed. It was quite the largest Van had ever laid upon, good for rolling around, he decided, wrapping his arms around Randi, who true to his word was touching Van curiously. His hands brushed Van's chest, testing firm muscles, sensitive points. He ran a thumb over Van's jawline, his collarbone, over his nipple, and Van breathed hard under his touch. Randi's hand ran flat over his stomach, and further down - gentle over his hair, under his balls, caressing him at the base. Van kept still, happy to let Randi indulge his inquisitiveness, and a low moan escaped him as Randi's hand ran up his cock. "You're...very handsome," Randi said, and dipped his head before Van could find a reply to the awkward compliment. 

He was tentative with his lips and tongue - charmingly so, taking Van a half-inch at a time. He attempted a long, downward stroke, and coughed in surprise. "Randi," Van murmured.

"I'm fine," he said. "I always wondered," and he wrapped a hand firm around Van's cock before engulfing it with his mouth again, pulling more firmly with his lips this time. Van slipped a hand to his own lips to stifle a moan. _Gods, but experience isn't everything_ , he reflected dimly. Randi's touches were sensitive, clever, growing ever more confident, driving Van ever more wild. And when he hesitated, Van had to let him. _I had no idea I needed this. It's not just for him - he's my king and I have to trust him, too._

Randi sat back above him. "So, uh," and Van saw his face turn momentarily blank. _Shavri_ , and he blushed fiercely. He hadn't expected she'd stay out of this. "Can we, uh, at the same time," and he shifted until he was above Van's body, with his cock aligned with Van's lips.

"Whatever you want," Van replied, breathless.

"Mayn't I ask your opinion on matters of state?" Randi said mildly.

Van kissed his head with tight lips. "Oh I promise, you'll always get _that_ whether you ask for it or not," he replied before getting back to work. It felt so intense, having Randi above him like this - too restricted to be at his most elegant, he concentrated on sliding Randi through his tilted mouth, rhythmically moving his tongue, while Randi engulfed him in soft heat, a hand wrapped around him, fingers and tongue moving over him. Van delighted in his touch, the taste of him, and he tried to give back just as much, all he could. He felt Randale breathing harder - another cough here and there at his boldness, but never halting his rhythm. His skin felt taut in Van's mouth. He tasted salt.

"Van, I'll..." and he knew Randi was trying to warn him but he didn't care.

"As you will, your majesty," he whispered, and the thought of pleasing Randale, serving him this way, somehow pushed Van closer to the edge himself. "I - Randi -" Randi wrapped Van tight in one hand and shuddered above him, spilling warm over his tongue. That taste of him was all Van needed, and his hips rose as pleasure overcame him. 

It was some moments before Randale looked up from his sprawl, shaking his head in wonder. "You bastard," he muttered.

Van wiped his mouth delicately on the edge of a fine silk sheet. "Was that a reprimand?" he asked.

"No...gods, Van..." Randi sat up slowly. Candlelight flickered on the king's warm skin. His hand was now stained with the residue of their very different ritual, which gave Van a peculiar jolt of satisfaction. Randi had never seemed closer, as a man, nor more distant. "You - you really meant it."

"I don't swear oaths I don't mean," he smiled. "I'm yours. I pledge you." It was the third time he'd sworn it and, looking at Randale's returning smile, maybe it was finally getting through to him. _He_ is _my king and if that's what it took to get him to believe it, I've no complaints._ And another change between them that they would both simply have to accept. Van didn't take many lovers, and rarely for long, and he knew it would never matter so much whose bed he was in; he was a Herald before anything else and part of him would always be Randale's, his king's to command.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In Service of the King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128934) by [Gildaurel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildaurel/pseuds/Gildaurel)




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